One Year On
by m-is-for-MollyMansfieldMealing
Summary: Connie takes some sick leave, which over joys some but is a cause of concern for others... One shot :)


***tentatively creeps into the room***

**Hi guys! I'm back from Berlin (which was amazing) :D inspiration hit me at the airport yesterday waiting for my flight, so I decided to write this! I will tell you know, it was about 11-midnight when I did it so god knows what you're going to think xD**

**I haven't seen Saturdays episode yet so no spoilers in the reviews please! And if the guest is reading this who keeps asking why I didn't update "It was like seeing a ghost" yesterday- I WAS IN BERLIN! I did say on last weeks update!**

**Reviews would be welcome, and I hope you enjoy! -Sophie x**

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It had been 2 weeks since Connie called in sick, and day to day life in the ED was bliss. Everyone had a joke and laugh whilst they worked, unburdened by their fire-breathing boss, and actually enjoyed coming to work each morning. Things were much more relaxed, and the entire atmosphere of the emergency department was calm and content.

However, not all were jumping and skipping. Charlie knew Connie- he knew she never took sick leave, and that she would come in even on her death bed. Something wasn't right, he could feel it. She wasn't one to take a day off, never mind two weeks in one go. So, with much hesitation, he set off for her house after his shift.

Charlie placed his hands in his pockets as he strolled down her street, clouds of breath rushing in front of him. He looked up as he approached her garden, to see the front curtains closed and the light on the landing off. The nurse frowned before pushing open her freaky gate and wandering up the path. He knocked on the door firmly, the harsh sound bypassing him as it hollered down the still, silent street.

Everything remained as it was, with no indication that anyone was inside. Charlie knocked again. Again, nothing. He bent down and opened her letterbox, and peered through into her hallway. Immediately the acrid stench of days old alcohol hit him, and he stood back before coughing loudly. He bent back down and opened the letterbox again.

"Connie? Connie, are you in there?" He called, moving his head so his ear rested on the gap.

"Go away." A woman's voice mumbled faintly, and Charlie sighed.

"Connie it's Charlie, open the door."

"Make me."

Her colleague just rolled his eyes.

"Open the door now. We need to talk and you know it."

"There's nothing to talk about." Her voice sounded closer as Charlie pressed his ear closer to the letterbox.

"I think taking two weeks sick leave is something to talk about Connie. I've never known you take a day off in your life, never mind 14 in one go."

There was a dull click and rattle before the door handle moved and opened, startling the nurse who staggered backwards slightly before standing. Illuminated by the street lights, half of Connie's face appeared at the space between the door and the wall.

"Go home Charlie." She said simply, her eyes tired and bloodshot, her face bare and exposed to her colleague.

"No. Something's the matter Connie." He said firmly, watching as she looked down to the pavement, hair falling on her face.

"It's nothing of your concern." She said quietly. "Don't waste your time on me."

The nurse was now exasperated.

"For gods sake woman, just open the door!" He exclaimed, and she jumped at his raised voice. Her mouth opened slightly and she stared at him, shocked. Charlie sighed and put his hands up.

"Sorry, sorry. I'm just concerned, ok? Whatever's the matter, I want to help. You can't hide yourself away from the world like this, it's not how it works."

Connie closed her eyes, and let her head fall on the wall gently. Then, after a few moments, she opened the door and walked through to the living room. Charlie removed his shoes, shut the door, then followed her.

The living room was pristine, as per usual, excerpt for a scattering of tissues on the sofa.

"Excuse the mess." She gestured around herself as she sat down. "I wasn't expecting any visitors."

"It's fine." Charlie sat down in the armchair opposite her, and watched as she crossed her legs and reached for a newly opened bottle of wine. She looked to Charlie as she poured herself a glass, but her quickly shook his head.

"Is that your first? Bottle, I mean." He asked, and she nodded, running a finger around the rim of her glass.

"Don't worry, I'm not an alcoholic." She smiled ever so slightly as she sipped the scarlet liquid. "Just helps me relax, that's all. Takes my mind off of things."

"What might the "things" be?" Charlie looked at her and she bit her lip slightly, looking towards the television set.

"Charlie, I appreciate the concern but I'd rather not talk about it."

"Rather not or too stubborn?" He raised an eyebrow. She remained silent.

"Connie, seriously. I'm here because I care about you, it's as simple as that. Talk to me, rather than shutting everyone out. It's not healthy, you know that."

He looked into her eyes, her vulnerable, bloodshot eyes, and smiled. Connie just gulped her wine and poured another glass as soon as it emptied.

"It's his anniversary. 1 year ago today."

"Who's anniversary?" He asked, and watched as she picked up a tissue from beside her.

"Alfred Maxwell's. The day he died." Her voice cracked and she stood quickly, putting her wine glass down and moving swiftly into the kitchen, back of her hand over her mouth. Charlie paused, giving her a minute before following her through to the dimly lit kitchen.

She stood in front of the window, one hand clutching a tissue as she nibbled on a nail, dabbing at each cheek in turn with shaking movements. Her body trembled as the rays of moonlight hit her face, illuminating her tear stained cheeks.

Charlie slowly made his way to her and placed his hands gently on her arms.

"He could have still been here." She whispered, voice jumpy. "If it wasn't for me, he could have still bern alive. Things could have gotten better for him."

"Don't do this." Charlie muttered, rubbing her right arm. "It's not worth it."

"I keep telling myself he's in a better place now, but I just can't convince myself." She tilted her head back and closed her eyes, taking some deep breaths as she did so.

"There's nothing you can do now, there's no point going over the "what-if"'s and "what could have been"'s."

"I just wanted to help. Seeing him in that state, so depressed having given up on his own life... He didn't deserve to live like that. No-one does. It just makes me think of what my father had to go through the day he died." It was at this point that she broke, and tears cascaded down her cheeks like two miniature waterfalls. She began to sob, slim figure racking with every inhalation.

"Oh Connie." Charlie whispered, and he gently pulled her around and to his chest. She buried her head in his neck, and let her tears soak through his blue scrubs. Charlie rubbed her back gently, looking over her shoulder to the photos on her fridge.

There were only 3- one was of Grace in America, wearing a pair of fluffy earmuffs. The second was Connie and who must have been her father, toasting two glasses filled with white wine. The third was a recent one- it was her and Alfred Maxwell, taken in the nursing home he stayed in before she assisted his suicide. They were both smiling, and for once there was light in Connie's eyes, something the nurse had never seen before.

"I'm sorry." Connie cleared her throat before moving away from his embrace, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I don't know what came over me."

Charlie just sighed.

"It's called emotion Connie. Don't be afraid to show it more often." He smiled slightly, rubbing her arm as he passed her to go back into the living room. Charlie quickly popped his head around the door, just as the clinical lead plucked some tissues from a box on the microwave.

"Though warn me next time? I need to wear this tomorrow!" He grinned, and Connie smiled through the tears and nodded.

"I will. Thanks, Charlie."

"No problem." He winked back.


End file.
